


Punchdrunk

by Wix (Xaidurk)



Category: Black Jack (Anime & Manga), Osamu Tezuka Star System
Genre: FTM, M/M, Osamu Tezuka, Queer Themes, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaidurk/pseuds/Wix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiriko's been missing for month and is rumored to be dead. Black Jack seeks comfort in uncomfortable places. Sequel of sorts to "Pent-Up Frustrations"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punchdrunk

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna go ahead and warn you that there's transphobic language/behavior in this; keep this in mind before/while you read this.

 Calling the bar “hazy” would be an understatement. Tobacco smoke stung not just his nostrils but his very skin when Black Jack walked in and settled at the corner of the counter. He ordered a shot of whiskey, on the rocks, and once his scarred fingers curled around the clear glass he let his gaze wander. Despite the permanent cancer fog it was not exactly dreary; just quiet, and full of other lonely, horny men. The place itself was in an alley, embedded between a brothel with similar cliental and a small but upper-class gambling joint. Black Jack felt no need to attend either the whorehouse or the yakuza-run scam, but he couldn’t deny that he felt somewhat at-home here. He wondered, for a moment, what his mother would think of him. A snort fogged the glass while he sipped from it.

            Yet he knew that this place wouldn’t welcome him. No, he was too out-of-the-ordinary for these already bizarre men. It wasn’t his outward appearance, or his clothing—there were a few gangsters here with almost as many scars on their bodies. He wondered if they were higher-ups or cocky or ignorant, since their ilk were literally right next door taking much less deadly risks. Or perhaps he had the wrong idea about the yakuza. He just peeked into their bodies, not their rules or traditions.

            He finished his first glass, and asked for another—this time he also set up a tab with the barkeep. Might as well—he was frustrated, and had no idea where the one person he could trust to relive that was. Probably dead. It’d been a month since he’d heard that rumor. His throat tightened enough to force him to hold the alcohol in his mouth for a few seconds. It burned his mouth and made his eyes water. Once he finally swallowed it, the tears went away. He’d cried exactly once this past month for about a minute—and that was enough.

            Black Jack shoved the thoughts from his head. Forced himself to focus on the next glass. Its cold sweat made his fingers numb, and its contents did the same to his mind.

            A few more drinks later, and his reason grew as muddled at the air around him. His body became hot and he deliberately met the eyes of another lonely man. He lit a cigarette and pursed his lips just slightly before sucking on it. The man walked over and sat down.

            “Never seen you here before,” he said in a low mutter typical of attendees. “Sure I’d recognize you, too. First timer?” Black Jack gave him a groggy smile.

            “Yeah,” he said. “Lookin’ for something different to do.” He offered the man his pack of cigarettes.

            “Out of the daily grind, you mean?” The man took a cigarette and lit it. “Same here.” Black Jack set his cigarette into the ashtray and swirled his whiskey before finishing it off.

            “Want to try something I know you’ve never done before?” he said, glancing sideways at him. The man smirked.

            “There’s a lot I’ve done,” he said.

            “Not this.” The man nodded slowly and eyed Black Jack’s face, his chest, his crotch.

            “You’re seasoned, aren’t you?” he said. “When was the last time?” Black Jack paused a moment. Sucked the cigarette.

            “Four months ago. Why’s it matter, and how about you?” He exhaled smoke. The man licked the corner of his lip.

            “Why’s it matter?” he asked.

 

-

 

Black Jack followed the man upstairs, stumbling every so often, to a room with a creaky bed in it. The pale wallpaper was faded and peeling in some parts, and the floor itself was dark, scratched wood. He wasted no time getting the man’s pants off and stroking him with his fingers.

            “Tell me, you got any more scars?” the man said with a grin. “I won’t ask how you got ‘em.”

            “You’ll see, won’t you?” Black Jack said. He unwrapped a condom and pulled it over the man’s cock, and ignored the man’s little frown. The man stopped acting so disappointed when Black Jack let his tongue drag along his shaft and swirl around his glans. After teasing him like that a little, Black Jack opened his mouth wide and swallowed him. The man gasped a little and bucked his hips, gripping the back of Black Jack’s head and tugging at his hair. Black Jack pulled away, glaring a little, and went back to licking. The man whined.

            “Come _on_ ,” he said. Black Jack stopped.

            “Stop fucking my mouth like that, then,” he said.

            “Alright, alright! Just go!” Black Jack contemplated stopping for good right there, but he hadn’t had a cock in his mouth in a long time. He continued. The man made desperate little whimpering sounds that escalated to grunts, and then he came. Black Jack pulled away and wiped saliva from his mouth. Soon the man’s knees collapsed and he sat on the bed, while Black Jack started taking off his belt.

            “So, what’ve you go that’s so unique?” the man said. Any fear Black Jack normally had was quelled by the whiskey he’d swallowed earlier, as well as his own sex drive. His body was pounding in certain places, pulsating to some unheard rhythm. He dropped his pants and the man’s jaw followed.

            “How’s that for different?” Black Jack asked, letting a finger trail down his hard clitoris. The man recoiled and stumbled to his feet. In a blink, his fist smashed into Black Jack’s jaw with a crunch. Black Jack fell to the floor and gripped his cheek.

            “Fuckin’ _freak_ ,” the man spat while he pulled his pants on backwards. “Fuckin’ freak, fuckin’ freak!” Black Jack leaned against the wall and felt around his mouth with his tongue. No missing teeth, but plenty of blood. He’d bitten his cheek. The man all but ran out of the room, his footsteps banging on the wooden stairs leading back to the bar. Black Jack sighed and rested his arm on his bent knee, head hanging.

            “Fuck,” he grunted, and closed his eyes. He heard someone yelling downstairs—probably his would-be one-nighter—and he was too drunk and too pained to care. It didn’t take long for tears to threaten to burst from his eyes, but even if he wanted to cry, he couldn’t. He wiped his mouth again and stared at the red stain on his skin.

            All he could think was that this wouldn’t have happened if there wasn’t something horribly wrong with him. He thought of the scars on his chest, how they stood out even compared to his others, and then about that third scar across his belly. In his daily life he didn’t mind these, and even celebrated them sometimes. But now he just wanted to vomit.

 

-

 

Kiriko kept his scarf tied tightly around his face and his hat tucked down. It was dark and the streetlights were made hazy by the misty drizzle. Despite the lack of real rain, it was wet enough that his shoes made little splashes when he stepped through worn-down parts of the sidewalk. The wind blew and he shivered before ducking into an alley to avoid an upcoming police car. Couldn’t take any chances.

            For the most part he knew that this neighborhood was safe for him. It was filled with criminals and other unsavory types just like him. He’d treated a few gangsters and similar folks before—and saved them; they’d only come to him because Black Jack was too expensive for the lesser yakuza groups—so he was at least somewhat welcome here.

            He passed a small building with a reddish-orange neon sign in the window. It flickered and he peered at the inhabitants playing mahjong. One glanced up at him and he slowly turned his gaze to the street once more. Ahead he saw an older man brushing the face of a boy who couldn’t be older than seventeen. They went into an unmarked building and Kiriko stopped in front of the door immediately to his right. Ah, he knew this place.

            As soon as he opened the door smoke blasted him in the face and filled his nostrils, his mouth, his eyes. He breathed slowly and sat at the bar. The barkeep looked up at him and nodded with a smile. Kiriko nodded back.

            “What can I get for you, sir?” the barkeep asked.

            “Straight gin. No ice. Do you have a bathroom round the back?” Kiriko asked. “I might need to use it later.”

            “Certainly. Anything the customer needs, they get,” he said. As he spoke, he tapped the counter twice. Kiriko peered over it to see a trap door under the barkeep’s foot. He nodded and smiled.

            “Thank you. I shouldn’t be here long,” he said.

            “For you, I’ll stay open late.” The barkeep set a clear glass in front of him and Kiriko sipped from it.

            He’d only just finished his first glass when the ceiling shook and dust fell onto his head. Someone upstairs yelled, then more dust fell as whoever it was stomped his feet. The stomping grew louder and a man appeared from the staircase, still trying to pull his belt on.

            “H-he had a cunt!” he yelled. Kiriko’s ears flexed but he didn’t look up from his glass. “Frankenstein’s fuckin’ fucked-up sex doll j-just tried t’ fuck me! Don’t trust that patchwork freak!” He rushed for the door, tripped over his falling pants, crawled to his feet, and hopped out—cursing all the way. Kiriko slipped ten-thousand yen under his glass with a shaking hand and snuck upstairs. His face was red and he chewed his bottom lip with a grimace.

 

-

 

Footsteps approached and someone opened the door. Black Jack looked up and his eyes widened a little.

            “Kirik--.” His voice caught in his throat. He slapped himself.

            “I guessed it’d be you,” Kiriko said, and hurried over. He scooped up Black Jack’s pants and carried them to him. “Come on. Get dressed, you idiot. Then let me look at your mouth.” He helped Black Jack to his feet and Black Jack quickly pulled on his pants and socks.

            “Where were you?” he demanded while Kiriko brought his shoes to him.

            “Running from the authorities. I faked my death in Venezuela,” he said.

            “Then why come back?”

            “They won’t expect me to be here. Open your mouth.” He pulled Black Jack’s cheek a little to inspect the damage. “Just a cut. I think it’ll heal soon enough—was that all he did?” Black Jack nodded and slumped. Kiriko opened his mouth, and closed it again when Black Jack glared at him.

            “No, say it,” he said. “Go. Say it. Say I’m a slut for choosing some random Joe while I was drunk. Call me a goddamn fool for thinking I could get a little relief from these people when I look like _this_.” Kiriko almost pulled out a box of cigarettes, but had second thoughts and procured a flask instead. He sipped from it and handed it to Black Jack.

            “Don’t drink it—you’re wasted enough already. Swirl it around the cut and spit,” he said. “Best I can do on short notice.” Black Jack took a big gulp, sloshed it in his mouth, and swallowed it. Kiriko clicked his tongue once. “You didn’t listen at all.”

            “Shaddup.” Kiriko chuckled through his nose and patted his back a few times.

            “Let’s get you out of this place,” he said. He started helping Black Jack up, but Black Jack pushed him away and stood on his own. He stumbled a little, steadied himself, and pulled his coat on. Kiriko took him to his car, past casual stares from customers in the bar. He held out his hand and Black Jack turned over his keys.

            “How’d you know it was me, anyway?” Black Jack asked once Kiriko had driven for a while.

            “He was yelling some things that made me guess it was you,” Kiriko said after a moment.

            “What?” Kiriko bit his tongue. “ _What_?”

            “…Frankenstein’s fucked-up sex doll,” he said through his teeth. Black Jack snorted and laughed. “It’s not funny.”

            “Of course it is,” Black Jack said. “So was it the ‘fucked-up sex doll part’ that clued you in?”

            “Of course not. You know how many times I’ve heard people call you Doctor Frankenstein’s monster apprentice?” Black Jack laughed again.

            “I’m just his apprentice now? Clearly I’m losing my touch. Better move some brains around, gotta keep my reputation up,” he said.

            “Whatever. Why were you trying to sleep with that guy, anyway?” Kiriko asked. Black Jack shrugged.

            “I was frustrated,” he said. “You were nowhere to be found.”

            “You went for years without sleeping with anyone. It’s just been four months since our last encounter,” Kiriko replied.

            “I would’ve been able to stave it off with masturbation if you weren’t such a damn good fuck,” Black Jack said.

            “I’d be flattered if I wasn’t so irritated,” Kiriko said through a snarl.

            “Why?” Kiriko sighed and parked the car along a quiet street.

            “You just… did an incredibly stupid, stupid thing,” he said. “It’d be all well and good if you could just go out and fuck whoever you wanted without worrying about it, but the fact of the matter is that you can’t. What if he had a weapon?”

            “Bullshit,” Black Jack said. “You’re jealous that I was trying to sleep with someone other than you.”

            “Did you even _try_ to contact me?”

            “You haven’t been to your clinic yet? I called you dozens of times and even asked around about you! There were some passing rumors that you’d died!”

            “The authorities probably set up a permanent camp at my clinic. It’s not safe. And besides, that couldn’t have been more than a month ago and you were already going out!”

            “You have no idea how I mourn, do you?” Black Jack said. “That paired with the already pent-up frustration was driving me to the edge! I was turning away patients for a month!”

            “Just forget it,” Kiriko said. “You’re safe. I can’t complain much.” He started the car up again.

            “Kiriko,” Black Jack said.

            “Hm?”

            “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

            “Thanks. Me too.”

 

-

 

Pinoko was waiting at the table and snacking on chocolate with a frown on her face, even though there was plenty of curry in front of her. It was Doc’s favorite flavor; she’d been serving this every day for the past month and was sick of it anyway. She kicked her little feet and stared out the window to see Black Jack’s car pull up.

            “Doc!” she whined as soon as the door opened. By now Black Jack had finally given in and let Kiriko help him walk inside. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw Kiriko. “Mishter failed asshasshin!”

            “Pinoko, I said I’d be back late! You’re supposed to be asleep!” Black Jack said with a glare.

            “I can’t shleep when you’re out and I don’t know where you are! You shmell like booze, doc! Were you drinkin’?!” she demanded. “An’ you got punched! What kinda doctor goes out and gets in bar fightsh?!”

            “You’re Doctor Black Jack’s wife, aren’t you?” Kiriko said. Pinoko snapped to attention and nodded. “Help me out with your husband. He needs some ice for his face.”

            “Don’t encourage her,” Black Jack grunted under his breath once Pinoko rushed to the kitchen. Kiriko sat him on the couch just in time for Pinoko to dash back into the room, hop into his lap, and press the ice on his face. Black Jack hissed.

            “Gentler, Mrs. Pinoko,” Kiriko said, and she nodded.

            “Doc, you said you had t’ do a big surgewy! Why’d you lie t’ me?” she said with little tears welling in her eyes. Black Jack sighed.

            “I finished the surgery and the patient’s family invited me to celebrate. That’s all,” he said.

            “Then why’sh he here?” Pinoko demanded, pointing at Kiriko.

            “He brought me home because he didn’t drink as much,” Black Jack said. “Go to bed now. I can see you nodding off.”

            “But Doc--!”

            “Bed. Go.” She groaned and stamped away to her bedroom. “What a handful,” Black Jack muttered once she was gone. He sat up and rubbed his cheek with his hand before Kiriko held it to his face for him. After a moment, he grabbed Kiriko by the shoulder and tugged him close. He wrapped his other arm around Kiriko’s torso and stroked his hair.

            “You’re drunk, Black Jack,” Kiriko said when Black Jack kissed the top of his head.

            “I’m really, really glad that you’re alive,” Black Jack said. “I’d kiss your lips but I just sucked some bastard’s dick.”

            “Did you use a condom?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Alright.” Kiriko sat up and brushed his lips against Black Jack’s before poking his tongue out. Black Jack eventually returned the kiss, cracking open his mouth just enough to let Kiriko’s tongue in. Kiriko shoved him down and penetrated those lips eagerly, and bit them lightly. He gripped Black Jack’s wrists and held him down, then sat up with a smile stretching across his face.

            “What?” Black Jack said.

            “I’m glad you were worried about me,” Kiriko said.

            “I was more than worried.”

            “Good.”

            “I’m glad you were at that bar tonight.”

            “So am I.”

            “Do you forgive me?” Black Jack looked up, straight into Kiriko’s eyes.

            “Naturally,” Kiriko replied. “Promise you won’t do it again unless I really am dead.”

            “First promise me you’ll contact me next time this happens.”

            “If there is a next time, I’ll email you.”

            “No. Call me.”

            “Fine. I will.” Black Jack craned his neck forward and met Kiriko’s lips again. Kiriko let go of his wrists to touch his face.

            “Thanks,” Black Jack said. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Kiriko’s neck, holding him tight.

**Author's Note:**

> I am WELL AWARE that I gave this the worst title in the world, thanks.
> 
> When I started writing this I was feeling a little bitter about things touched on in here, then I started feeling a little bit better by the end of it. Writing about fellow trans male characters being miserable is a good catharsis, you know?
> 
> I'd love your feedback; let me know what you think!


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